Little Lotte
by Silverneko9lives0
Summary: Twenty years after Phantom of the Opera, Erik and his family are living in New York, unaware that the de Chagny’s have sent their two sons and young daughter to attend schools there. Erik's son x Christine's daughter Complete!
1. prologue

_Prologue_

—_August 27__th__, 1890, a ship crossing the Atlantic on its way to New York from France. 12:30 PM_

Philip de Chagny peered over his book to see how his younger siblings fared. Armand was sleeping in his cot. He turned his gaze to see how his sister was and started.

"Armand wake up," he said after marking his place and whacking his brother.

"What time's it?" Armand asked groggily.

"Charlotte's missing."

Armand woke instantly and grabbed his coat as did Philip before they ran out of their cabin and onto the deck.

"Monsieurs de Chagny," a skipper addressed, tipping his hat. Philip turned to him.

"Have you seen our sister?"

"Yes, Monsieur," he said. "Mademoiselle de Chagny is at the bow," he said pointing behind him with his thumb. The brothers jogged further and saw Charlotte, in her green petticoat and dress, a tiny gloved hand, keeping hold of her wide brimmed hat while the other held onto the rail. Her bright blue eyes were wide with delight and the wind blew her yellow hair, making it fan out behind her like a cape and tangling.

Philip breathed a sigh of relief while Armand fumed.

"Argh! 'Lotte!" Armand shouted. Charlotte turned to him and blinked, her smile gone. "We told you not to wander off! Ungrateful girl!"

"I didn't wander off. I talked to one of the cabin boys and he told me that we're getting closer to New York, so I wanted to watch our progress."

Armand growled while Philip rubbed his eyes, fighting off fatigue. "You still should have told at least one of us."

"If I did that then neither of you would have agreed without one of you coming with me. I wanted to be alone. I was planning on going back to get you when I was hungry."

Philip sighed and checked his pocket watch. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. "Well, since 'Lotte brought it up, let's go eat."

"I said I would get you when I _was_," Charlotte mumbled, following her brothers to the dining cabin.

Philip, the oldest child and heir to Count Raoul de Chagny, was refined and cool tempered. Some believed him to be stoic and uncivil at times as he preferred to keep himself to his books, but he was twice the gentleman as some once you have come to witness it yourself. He had his father's amber brown hair and square jaw line. He was tall and sinewy and quite handsome.

Armand was truly the uncivil one; quick of temper and quick to judge. He would seem polite and genteel to the elite, but once when a lady found herself alone with him, she screamed for help when he attacked her. Father was rather displeased at this and Armand was found locked in his room for the next five balls after that. He was also tall and sinewy, but his hair, though strait like his father's, was golden. His features weren't as strait as Philip's, holding a softer, rounder tone that held some sort of masculine beauty.

As for their little sister, Charlotte, named specifically for the purpose of Father calling her Little Lotte as he used to call Mother, she was nothing like Armand and almost exactly like Philip, making her Father's favorite amongst the three of them. Whether he still called his wife such, none of his children knew. Charlotte was an exact replica of her mother as a child: lithe frame, loving to dance and sing, bright blue eyes, delicate mouth, and tangled curly hair that, in contrast to her mother's nutmeg color, was as golden as the sun. Charlotte was cool tempered like Philip and preferred the eldest brother to her elder brother.

The three of them were on their way to New York for their education. Philip and Armand have been attending Christian Brothers' Academy since they were each ten. Now their sister would be joining them at an all girls school: Academy of the Sacred Heart in Amherst.

They entered the dining cabin and were led to a table. Taking seats, they looked through the menus before making their preferences known. Once the waiter left with their orders, Philip and Armand asked Charlotte for the thousandth time whether she was ready for this. After reassuring them that she was…again, she played with her napkin and folded her hands in her lap, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Philip smiled at his sister's display of modesty and ladylike civility. His smile vanished when a lad from his and Armand's school caught his eye. The boy beckoned the brothers to him.

"Isn't that Richard of Bretagne?" Armand asked.

"It is."

"What does he want?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Philip said. "Stay with Charlotte, I'll be right back."

Philip went to Richard's table. "Glad that you decided to join me, Philip," Richard said, shaking Philip's hand. "I was wondering who that angel is at your table. A relation, perhaps?"

"She is my sister."

"Then maybe I am inquiring the right person."

"Inquiring?"

"That is, providing that she isn't promised to someone in your Father's circle."

"I am honored that you deem my sister worthy of your attention, Sir," Philip told him. "However, neither my brother nor I intend on allowing any man offer himself to our sister unless he has taken the subject up with our Father. She is his favorite out of the three of us, after all."

"Then maybe you could suggest me to him as a potential suitor for your sister," Richard stated, swirling his glass of wine, his gaze occasionally shifting over to Charlotte.

"I beg your forgiveness, Richard," Philip said. "But out of my younger siblings, she is in my favor as well and I _certainly_ won't approve of the match even if my father does. Therefore, if you wish to suggest yourself to Father, be my guest. But I will not suggest the likes of _you_ to even a shopkeeper."

Philip stood and headed back to his respective table. Glancing over at Richard, he couldn't help chuckling. Richard was scowling and red. Glaring at the de Chagnys, he finished his wine, stood and stormed out of the dining cabin.

"What did he want?" Armand asked with raised eyebrows.

"Our sister's hand," Philip stated as the food came.

"You told him no, didn't you?"

"He wouldn't have stormed out in a fury if I didn't tell him no," he said, unable to keep himself from smiling.

Armand laughed and they began to eat, Charlotte occasionally wondering why her brothers looked so amused.

When they finished eating, the brothers and Charlotte headed for their cabin. "Who was that boy you were talking too?" she finally asked Philip.

"Just a classmate," he said, shrugging it off. There was no need to tell her that Richard was asking him for permission to court her.

The rest of the day passed in an eventless manner. Philip read, Armand slept, and Charlotte sewed embroidery. They ventured out of the cabin again at seven o'clock for dinner and afterwards explored the ship. Heading to the bow, Charlotte and her brothers watched their progress until they noticed something shining on the water.

"So we're almost back," Philip said. Armand nodded while Charlotte stared on as if she were at a fair.

The next day consisted of packing up their things and handing them to their servants. They left the ship and ventured onto the American soil before separating themselves into the carriages for their respective schools. Charlotte bid goodbye to her brothers and left for Amherst.

_August 28__th__, 1890, Outside the Academy of the Sacred Heart, Amherst, New York, 4:45 PM_

Ms. Newfield bade the servants to open the gates and she stood waiting for the carriages to pull up. Looking to her right, she sighed, letting her shoulders drop.

She wasn't, however, angry or disgruntled, but she was concerned. She knew Aaron Destler since he was quite young. A promising musician, most of his music self composed, Aaron was considered a genius among most of the boys his age. He was a dark haired, tall, and acceptingly handsome with his calculating hawkish eyes, strait, pointed nose, and thin lips. He also had the manners of a perfect gentleman, which at times made Ms. Newfield wish that he was just a few years older than fifteen. Then she wouldn't consider him as a nephew she held in highest regard.

He was sleeping in the cold again, his back to the fence and his hat covering his eyes as he snored. His violin was tucked behind his back and Ms. Newfield winced, wondering how he could sleep like that. His hands were folded on his chest and all he had to keep himself warm was his thin, worn tunic, a goatskin vest, brown trousers, wool socks and his brown warn out leather moccasins.

She knelt beside him and shook him awake.

"Aaron," she hissed. Aaron woke with a start and she laughed. "Poor boy, how many times have I told you to go home every once in a while?" she asked, helping him up.

"At least once a day, but your record was ten last Christmas," he stated, smirking. "But you know how Dad is. And Gran can be a bit worse than he is at times."

"I dare say I do. But he never turns you out of the house?"

"No, he doesn't. But you have to consider that his neglect as a child has rendered him unsociable. He doesn't want to publish his work as to earn money; he claims that it is inappropriate for human ears. I say that that's because it was written with his soul. And that's what makes a hit! He doesn't listen though."

"Haven't you published yet?"

"No, I'm still working on my own life composition. It's not as dramatic as an opera, but it would be great to hear at an orchestra."

"I'm certain it would be," Ms. Newfield said with a smile. "Are you sure you don't want me to buy you something a little more comfortable than those rags you wear?"

"Dad asks me the same thing considering that we're well off," Aaron stated, shrugging. "I don't care about my appearance as much as I should, I guess. But I can rough it out. If I really need new clothes, I'll talk to Dad about it. He says that since I have less of a chance of being shunned like he was that I should live life to its fullest. But considering what happened to him at my age, I don't want to feel like I had a superior upbringing than what he had."

"You're a kind boy, Aaron," Ms. Newfield said. And so he was. Aaron's father was deformed at birth and was shunned as a demon's child when he was actually a very kind soul. Manipulative at times, but understandably so, Mr. Destler was often misunderstood and it took Aaron's mother to convince his father that he wasn't the monster he always thought himself to be. When Mrs. Destler caught consumption, it was Aaron who helped his father move on. Ms. Newfield admired the bond between father and son that Aaron and his father shared.

The first carriages rolled up and as the girls descended, they giggled and blushed whenever Aaron bowed at them or tipped his hat. Some of the less bashful ones glanced at him flirtatiously, but he paid them no more attention than he did the other girls. One of the girls who stepped off curtsied in response.

This was rare and the girls usually didn't bother, so it was a little bit of a shock to both Ms. Newfield and Aaron.

This girl was a new student. Her hair was sunshine gold and her eyes were bright blue. She was an adorable little doll of a girl and Ms. Newfield began to wonder who she was. Not out of jealousy, but out of curiosity.

Leading the girls into the school, she looked at her list before assigning rooms.

"Charlotte de Chagny," she called out. The girl that returned Aaron's gesture stood. "Opal dormitory," she stated. Charlotte curtsied and headed to the girls in the opal dormitory.

Ms. Newfield smiled. The girl seemed rather well bred and of good nature. If ever Aaron was to marry, she would wish him to find a girl like Mademoiselle de Chagny.

* * *

I had this written for a while, but never posted it. Mostly because it feels like it goes too fast even though I put up dates to give chronological timing...hope you like it though.


	2. cold feet

_Chapter 1: Cold Feet_

_November 1__st__, 1890, Academy of the Sacred Heart, Amherst, New York. 4:30 AM_

Charlotte woke early in the morning to someone outside playing the violin. Getting out of bed and wrapping her powder blue robe around her shoulders, she opened the drapes and stared out into the fog. She could hear the music. It was beautiful…

The fog slowly cleared up and she saw the boy from when she first arrived at the school outside the gate, playing his violin. But the cords shook as if he was cold. Biting her lip, Charlotte quickly donned something a little more appropriate and took out her spare blanket. She didn't really need it: Father insisted on her bringing it.

Careful not to wake the others, Charlotte snuck to the front gates. His eyes were closed, but he looked too cold. His lips seemed to be steadily going blue. That wasn't good.

"Monsieur?" she muttered harshly. He opened his eyes.

"May I help you?" he asked. Charlotte held out her blanket.

"Take this. It'll keep you warm at least a little bit before I go and get you some coffee to warm you up."

He smiled a little, but continued to shiver. "I thank you Miss. But I can't take that."

"I have another. My father made me bring it. I don't need it."

Reluctantly, he took it in his cold fingers, wrapping it around himself while Charlotte ran to the kitchen. "Mary," she said once she realized that the cook was up. "There's a boy outside and he'll catch death if I don't hurry. Could you make some coffee?"

"You're supposed to be in bed, Miss Charlotte."

"I heard music and went to investigate," Charlotte explained. "Give him my cup; I'll use a spare if I have too."

"That's why we have spares, Miss. For that poor boy out there," Mary stated, heating the coffee.

"Who is he, exactly?" Charlotte inquired.

"Aaron Destler. Promising talent, my dear. Ms. Newfield is a friend of him and his father, Erik Destler. Both father and son are born geniuses. Here you are. Careful not to spill," she said, handing Charlotte the coffee. "How's he looking anyway?"

"Freezing. As I said, he'll catch death out here." Mary blinked.

"What makes you say that? We never had a problem with his health before."

"His lips are going blue."

Mary paled and ran to the gates, Charlotte tried to follow, but the cook was too quick. She convinced the boy, Aaron, to come in and led him to the kitchen.

"Miss Charlotte, pull him up a chair will you?" Mary asked, leading Aaron inside. Charlotte did so, and Mary sat him down.

"Ms. Newfield told you time and time again, Mr. Destler: dress for the weather or you'll catch your death," Mary scolded him.

Aaron managed a smile. "I'm quite aware of Ms. Newfield's antics, Mary."

"Then take her advice, boy!" Mary barked, stripping him of his socks and shoes and heating up a kettle of water. She barked orders at Charlotte to help her make Aaron comfortable so she nervously tried to help him regain the circulation in his pale, frozen feet, starting with his left.

She blushed scarlet, as did Aaron (as much as a pale, cold boy could). When Mary returned with a basin and hot water, she poured the water in the basin and after it cooled down a little, Charlotte lowered his foot into the basin and he bit his lip to keep from crying out because of the heat while he let Charlotte massage his right foot.

While Charlotte's color wasn't changing much, Aaron's hot face was regaining his usual pale complexion. He watched the little girl with amusement as she rubbed her warm hands against his cold foot. When feeling regained in his left foot, Charlotte gently lowered his right into the bin and dried off his now reddish-pink left foot.

"Who did you say you were again?" he asked her. He realized that he could speak without stuttering now.

"I didn't say," she answered him. "I'm Charlotte de Chagny. My Father's the Count de Chagny."

Aaron nodded his head thoughtfully. He never heard of the de Chagny family, but then again, he didn't hear about half of the families that entered this school. Charlotte looked around to see what else she could do to help him. "Is there anything you'd like to eat? Preferably hot to warm yourself up," she suggested.

Aaron shrugged. "I'd like some bacon and eggs if you don't mind."

"Don't bother about it, dear," Mary said bringing him a plate already made for him and another for Charlotte. "You really ought to get some fresh clothes, Aaron. You're getting close to wearing nothing but your skin."

Aaron shrugged it off and glanced at Charlotte. She had finished praying and began eating her food. Aaron did so as well, keeping one eye on the girl who actually bothered about him compared to the other girls attending the academy.

He wondered why she cared whilst trying to keep his hand from brushing aside a strand of her hair that fell on the side of her face, blocking his view…

_What am I thinking? _He berated himself. _I hardly know her!_

He finished his food and stood taking his cold socks and shoes.

"Now, go to your father and ask him for money to buy yourself some new clothes. I don't want to see you here until you come with something that will keep you warm. _Including_ a coat," Mary said before seeing him off to the gate.

Charlotte followed them off, wondering why she felt compelled to help this boy so much. He turned his head to look at her and their eyes met, causing more blushes.

Mary returned after sending Aaron home and Charlotte headed to go get ready for the day's lessons. However, she could hardly concentrate on her lessons as her thoughts were distracted by the presence of a certain musician.

_November 1__st__, 1890, Amherst, New York. 1:18 PM_

Aaron threw the money pouch at his father, who caught it without bashing an eye, or looking at him, setting it on the table, Erik glanced up at his son from the _Times_. He snorted. It wasn't much different from what Aaron usually wore. Just new. New cotton trousers, wool socks, new leather shoes compared to the moccasins (on Erik's urging), a new shirt and a brown cow-hide coat and a matching hat. Erik also ordered Aaron to buy gloves and a scarf.

"Are you sure you're my father?" Aaron teased. "You mother me more that Mum did herself!"

"And that's remarkably considerable, since you never bothered to listen in the first place."

"I listen," Aaron defended. Erik raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes."

Erik chuckled. "Now why did you decide to finally go get new clothes?"

"I was getting really cold, wouldn't admit it, Mary forced me inside, warmed me up with the help of one of the students, and told me not to come back until I had new clothes."

"One of the students," Erik stated, smirking. This was getting quite interesting. "And may I ask who this darling girl is? Jane, maybe?"

Aaron shivered at the thought. Jane was one of the girls who were constantly trying to get him to look her way, but Aaron was scared away by her. "No, Dad, a new student. Charlotte de Chagny, I think she said her name was."

Erik froze and his smirk vanished. De Chagny? Now that was a name he hadn't heard in twenty years about. _Could it be _her_ daughter?_ He thought. Erik shook his head. He had let his affection for Christine go when Meg Giry helped him gain a life that he never thought would ever present itself to him.

"Dad?"

"Eh?"

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Aaron asked, unable to hold back the smile. It was a family joke…

"I knew a de Chagny, maybe her father. A long time ago, not worth mentioning."

"After or before the O.G. days?"

"During."

"Oh…" Aaron said.

"Out of curiosity, what does this girl look like?"

Aaron went scarlet and Erik repressed a sigh. The boy was a bit innocent. Meg thought that was adorable while she was alive, but Erik worried about it. Then again, his childhood was stolen from him at an early age.

"Like an angel."

"You could be a little more specific."

"Gold hair, blue eyes. Specific enough?"

Erik glared at his son. Aaron could be just as stubborn as Erik when he wanted to be. Besides, both the Vicomte and Christine had brown hair and brown eyes. How could they end up with a blonde child?

But then again, how many de Chagny's were there?

"Do you plan on going back to the school gates today?"

Aaron shook his head. "I'll go back tomorrow. If I go back now, Mary might go mad and chase me down to the river."

Erik nodded and returned to his paper.

* * *

Just to warn you, Erik is OOC. But I prefer to call it..."character development" :P


	3. a dream come true

_Chapter 2: A Dream Come True_

_November 2__nd__, 1890, Academy of the Sacred Heart, Amherst, New York. 5:00 AM_

Charlotte had been awake for half an hour waiting to see if Aaron had come back. He had just come to the gate and was setting up when she had just about given up.

Charlotte quickly dressed and ran out to greet him. He was better bundled up this time.

"I'm glad to see that you're well, Monsieur," she greeted. Aaron turned to her and smiled.

"My dad worries more than my mum did," he said, indicating the gloves and scarf. "He's intent on making sure that I don't suffer the life he had. Though, mine is already remarkably different compared to his."

"My father smothers me too."

"It makes sense that your father does. Have you ever heard of a father doting on his son? It's weird."

"It sounds weird," Charlotte giggled. "But I doubt he dotes on you as much as my Papa."

"Dear God! I hope not!" Aaron laughed. "That would be a nightmare."

Charlotte laughed with him. "It couldn't be worse than mine: If I went through what you did yesterday morning, Papa wouldn't let me out of his sight without making sure I was going to roast even in cold weather before letting me go."

Aaron winced. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. If it were my brothers, Papa wouldn't care much but tell them to make sure they're properly bundled as you are before sending them out again. Speaking of which, why didn't you have a coat, scarf, or gloves yesterday?"

"My old ones got tattered beyond repair. Dad kept barking at me to get new clothes before my old ones fell apart, but you know how it is."

Charlotte gave him an apologizing look. "No, I don't. Sorry."

Aaron shrugged it off. "Not a big deal." The sun began to creep up, gradually warming Charlotte's face. Aaron turned to face the sun, covering his eyes. "Maybe you should go back before Ms. Newfield finds out you're here."

Charlotte frowned.

"I'll still be here," he assured her. "I don't want you to get in trouble with her. She's harsh, but a very nice lady once you get to know her."

Charlotte nodded her head. "You're name's Aaron Destler, right?"

He blinked but gave her the affirmative. "Did Mary tell you?"

"Yes," Charlotte answered before heading back to the school.

Aaron licked his lips, hoping that she'd turn around and glance back at him before entering.

Just as she reached the door, she turned and smiled at him. Aaron felt rather pleased with himself.

_November 12__th__, 1890, Academy of the Sacred Heart, Amherst, New York. 3:30 PM_

Charlotte had come to enjoy the little moments she had with Aaron in the mornings and sometimes the afternoons before he left for home.

She sometimes couldn't get him out of her head and she found herself on more than one occasion glancing outside the window just to watch as passerby would stop and applaud him and tip him. This of course, would make the teachers snap at her on occasion.

The bell chimed and the doors opened allowing the girls to leave for the day. Charlotte ran out to the front gate to see if she could catch Aaron.

The gate was open allowing the girls to leave and venture around the city. She was just about to greet Aaron when she stopped, her smile vanishing from her face.

A very beautiful brunette was talking to him.

"Are you sure you don't want to go?" she purred, bending over at waist, her hands on her knees, as she leaned in closer to hear his answers.

"I'm flattered, Miss Beret," Aaron said. "But I'm not interested," he snapped his violin case shut and stood. As he stood, she straitened.

"But I insist," Miss Beret said wrapping her arms around Aaron's neck.

"And I stick with my answer," Aaron stated, detangling her arms from around his neck. He turned to Charlotte and his eyes widened.

By this time, her eyes were brimming with tears and she had covered her mouth to keep herself from sobbing aloud. When their eyes met, Charlotte ran back to the building. Aaron gently pushed her aside and ran after Charlotte.

"Charlotte!" he called after her, grabbing her tiny wrist.

"Let me go!" she shouted at him, refusing to let him see her tears.

"Charlotte, let me explain!" SMACK! Aaron released her, cupping his cheek, and the doors slammed shut.

"I didn't know you preferred younger women, Aaron," Jane cooed, entangling her arm in his and leaning against his shoulder.

Aaron growled and shoved Jane off of him. "Actually, my dear," he snarled. "I prefer a lady next to a whore."

Jane gaped at him and he knocked on the door. Jessica, one of the servant girls, answered. "I need to speak with Charlotte de Chagny. It's urgent."

"I'll take you to her room," Jessica offered, leading the way to the Opal dormitory. "I wonder what happened to cause such an outbreak," Jessica muttered, glancing at Aaron.

She knocked on one of the doors and opened it before an answer was given. "Good luck," she whispered to Aaron before closing the door.

The room was beautifully adorned with light blue and white furnishings. Some of the chairs were covered with dolls. The bed was red and gold. On the bed lay Charlotte, her shoes thrown on the floor and she herself seemed to be holding something close to her (a pillow maybe), her body shaking.

Taking his own shoes off, Aaron crept onto her bed and lay as close as he could to her, stroking her hair and trying to shush her. She didn't stop him as she did at the gates. Maybe this was something her Father did when she was upset. However, he tried to control his hand from moving past her hair, but he found himself too weak.

His hand went from her hair to stroking her cheek, caressing her tiny neck and finally wrapping his arm around her, closing the rest of the space between them.

"Go away," Charlotte sobbed. "I hate you…I hate you…"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not leaving. Not yet. Jane means nothing to me—"

"Oh, I'm sure of it! You seemed to be something to her."

"She's been after me for some time, but I never returned her affections. I really wish that you didn't see that," he whispered in her ear. She stopped shaking, but the tears kept falling. "I can accept you hating me for only so long, Charlotte. I've fallen in love with you. Curse it all to hell! I love you so damn much!" As he said this, he turned her head to face him and crashed his lips to hers.

Charlotte tried to push him off, shocked at his forwardness. However, Aaron tightened his grip on her, refusing to let go. Charlotte was able to free one of her hands and tried pulled on his hair, trying to cause him pain.

But Aaron took the gesture differently and paused for a second to catch his breath before swooping down on her again. After a moment in which Charlotte stopped fighting back, shivering due to her newly built up fear of him, Aaron released her.

"I would never do that with someone I hated," he whispered huskily, kissing her forehead before leaving.

Aaron walked back to his house in a lighter mood, his head feeling foggy and faint. It was a wonder he made it home without getting lost.

* * *

Yeah...I know it seems fast, but it isn't supposed to be (the dates are spread apart to indicate that this is at least a month or two after they met...

If you feel that it is too close, I understand what you mean...

Hope you liked it anyway.


	4. a kiss

_Chapter 3: A Kiss_

_November 13__th__. 5:00 AM_

Arriving at the usual time, Aaron looked through the bars, wondering if Charlotte would come greet him like she usually did. He set up his things and tuned his violin and she still didn't come out. Aaron was starting to worry after an hour passed by. He waited, unnerved. His playing was off. He stopped and put his things away.

The clock near by struck nine o'clock. A carriage rolled up and out stepped two men. They seemed to be related in some way, despite one having blonde hair and blue eyes that were quite similar to Charlotte.

"Excuse me," he said to them. They stopped and turned to him. "I could be wrong, but do you know Charlotte de Chagny?"

"We're her brothers," the older of the two answered. "Who are you?"

"A friend," Aaron answered, deciding not to tell them that he was an intended suitor. "I have to ask her something, would you mind if I accompanied you?"

The younger brother snarled and the older placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm afraid we can't allow you to see our sister," he said coolly.

Aaron's brow furrowed. "Why not? I insist on seeing her!"

"Absolutely out of the question."

"Now get lost," the younger brother growled as they entered the gates and headed up to the building.

Aaron ground his teeth and grabbed his things, deciding to go home.

"Aaron!" Ms. Newfield shouted, running out. Aaron stopped and turned to her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Aaron took a deep breath to try to calm himself down. "I need to speak with Miss de Chagny," he stated. Ms. Newfield nodded and opened the gate for him.

"Her brothers are here, so be careful with your tongue."

"I know, I asked them to accompany me so I could speak with her and they refused."

"Well, I dare say they would. Charlotte is the family's treasure, or so I'm told," the headmistress said, opening the gates and letting him inside. She led him to the Opal dormitory and told him to wait.

Aaron yawned, rubbing his eyes. He sat down and waited with growing impatience. Just as he was about to go and look for her himself, the door opened and Charlotte entered. Her eyes, when they met his, widened in fear.

"Why are you here?" she whispered.

"You didn't come greet me like usual," Aaron said sadly. "I need to talk to you."

"You shouldn't be here," she hissed, her eyes gazing at the door on occasion.

"And why the hell not?" he snarled. "Because I confessed how much you mean to me? Because I kissed you?"

"No, none of that," Charlotte said, holding up her hands. "My brothers are here. They're a bit overprotective. More protective than even my father. It's a miracle that they waited this long to check on me."

"I don't see why I should fear a couple of fops."

"Aaron, please," Charlotte begged, rushing over to him and grabbing his hands and kneeling by his feet. Aaron blinked in surprise. "Just tell me why you came here? What did you want to talk about?"

"Why didn't you come?"

Charlotte blushed. "I was embarrassed," she said.

"What is there to be embarrassed by?" Aaron growled, startling her. She took a breath and continued in a more composed manner:

"I couldn't get your kiss off my mind enough to concentrate let alone get out of bed. Each time I thought about it, I accepted it more. I knew I would have liked to be kissed sometime but it was too sudden yesterday."

Aaron got out of the chair and knelt on the floor in front of her, caressing her cheek. Charlotte took it in both of hers, intertwining her fingers in his.

"I have to go now," she whispered. When she said those words, Aaron wrapped his other arm around her waist. "Aaron, not now."

"If your brothers are overprotective, than I should be allowed the right to be possessive," he muttered, closing the distance between them.

"Aaron," she began when they broke apart.

"Shut up," he muttered, closing the distance again for another brief moment.

"I have to go."

"What are you scared of?"

Another kiss.

"They could hurt you—" A kiss.

"I'd like to see them—" A kiss. "Try." A kiss.

"Aaron—" A kiss.

Someone pounded at the door and Aaron, growling, hesitant to let her go, released her and Charlotte hid him in her room. The door to the dormitory burst open and Armand ran in, followed by Philip.

"What's going on in here that you'd refuse to open the doors?" Armand shouted.

Charlotte kept her cool, standing. "I was talking to Natalie, she just left and I realized that I left my bracelet in here," as proof, she raised her hand were a bracelet now resided.

Armand took a breath, trying comically to stave his anger. Philip just raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. Charlotte gave them an annoyingly sweet smile and walked out of the room. Her brothers followed.

Once they were gone, Aaron snuck out of the school and headed home.

* * *

sorry it took so long. Not sure why, the whole thing should be up by now...anyway, hope this chapter is as uncomforting as the last one (remember, the dates are there to show time length). Yes: Aaron is more daring now. He's as hopeless as his father. ^^


	5. the christmas ball

_**Chapter 4: The Christmas Ball**_

_December 2__nd__, 1890._

Aaron and his father had finished the usual festivities of decorating the house. Gran Giry was coming and Aaron looked forward to getting on her nerves as he usually did. Erik defended that it was a family trait.

She was going to arrive today sometime. Aaron and his dad looked out the window expectantly, the newest prank ready to be played.

A carriage rolled up and Gran stepped out. Snickering to themselves, they pulled on the act of a dutiful son-in-law and grandson.

The door opened.

"Hello, Madame, your patronage at Destler Inn is very much appreciated," Erik greeted in perfect imitation of Aaron's acting.

"You really think that's going work this time?" Gran inquired, a hand on her hip while Erik took one of her suitcases, but smiling none the less.

"Would the Madame like a spot of tea?" Aaron asked, taking another couple suitcases.

Gran looked at him and patted his cheek. "Not by your hand, Aaron, my boy." Erik snickered, taking another suitcase in.

"Well, Erik," Gran said, turning to him. "You certainly seem a little more lively than usual."

"Me? Lively? No. Not really."

She turned to Aaron, who shrugged. "It's a family trait."

"That doesn't mean you're getting extra presents this year," she stated. Aaron and his father drooped as Gran laughed evilly.

"She hasn't changed at all," Aaron complained.

"She hasn't changed since your mother was born. Mean ol' bat!" Erik muttered.

BONK!! He fell over. Clutching his head, which now sported a nasty bump, one of Gran's books lay open on the ground next to him. "Living in America has done nothing for your manners, Erik!" she screeched.

Aaron scratched his head. "I think she's right, Dad. You used to always be so grumpy."

Erik glared at Aaron who finished taking Gran's things into the house.

_December 6__th__, 1890._

Charlotte got out of bed at her usual time and looked outside. Aaron was there, tuning his violin and snow had begun to fall earlier that morning, covering the grounds in a steadily thickening blanket.

Dressing as quickly as she could, and putting on her winter attire on top of her normal every day clothes, Charlotte snuck out to greet him, a formal invitation ready at hand.

She raced to the gates and when she slowed to a walk, he turned around to face her. "Quite the weather we have today."

"That we do," Charlotte answered. "The day before Christmas, the school is having a ball," she handed him the invitation. "It'd be so dull if you don't come," she said with the smile that meant she was up to something.

Aaron raised an eyebrow but took the invitation anyway. "I'll tell you tomorrow, how's that?"

Charlotte nodded and Aaron, reaching through the bars, caressed her cheek before she left to go back inside.

Aaron, when he was done collecting his tips for the day, headed home and opened the invitation. In a flowery script it read:

_You are hereby invited to the annual Christmas Ball at the Academy of the Sacred Heart_

_December 24__th__ at five o'clock to midnight_

Aaron wondered how Gran and his father would take the news. Erik might be merciful enough to let him go, but Gran was another story. She'd only let him go if he told her about Charlotte. Which he wasn't sure if he was all that willing to do just yet…

Entering the house, he saw Gran sitting by the fire, reading a book and Erik was in another room composing. Gran looked from the book and stared at Aaron.

"Nice to see you come back more often than you used to."

"Mary and Ms. Newfield aren't letting me stay very long anymore," he said, shrugging. He set his violin and the invitation to the Christmas Ball on the table and headed to the piano in the corner, which his father got for him when he was five years old. On it was Aaron's composition.

Deciding to review it, he began at the very beginning, stopping and changing notes occasionally to make it flow better.

"Aaron," Gran said to him. Aaron stopped playing and looked at Gran for a moment; in her hand was the invitation from Charlotte. Aaron paled. "You seem to have forgotten that you were invited to a ball. And _why_ would this slip your mind, boy?"

Aaron blinked at Gran. "Uh…"

"Well?"

"Must be from his little poppet," Dad said, coming out, taking a look.

"Poppet?"

"Well, am I right?"

Aaron glared at Dad, but gave in and nodded. "She invited me this morning."

"Erik, since my grandson won't tell me about this 'poppet' of his, maybe you will."

"I'm not sure myself who she is, but he tells me that her name is Charlotte de Chagny."

Gran raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"You know her?"

"She is Christine's youngest child and only daughter; she studied dancing under me as well as learned to sing at a young age from some teacher I never heard of."

"Is she good?"

"Very much, but she could be better than even her mother if she continued those studies, but the Comte de Chagny was quite vocal that he didn't want his daughter dancing and singing."

"Hypocrite," Erik muttered.

"Maybe so," Gran stated. "But he had his reasons. Charlotte, however, insisted that she continue her dance and voice lessons and the Comte agreed, but told her that she would join her brothers in New York when she turned ten."

"So it really is _their _child," Erik mumbled, a smile curving at the corners of his mouth.

"What are you plotting now, Erik?" Gran asked darkly.

"Just how much it would shock that fop into a tizzy if my son and his daughter got together," he said without a trace of shame. Gran groaned and rubbed her temples.

Gran and Father turned to Aaron, who had no idea what was going on, and both gave their approval for him to go.

_December 24__th__, Academy of the Sacred Heart, Amherst, New York, 4:45 PM_

Aaron wondered how he could let Gran talk him into wearing _this_! He entered the school grounds and was led into the ballroom. It seemed that more than just a social gathering for the girls and their friends.

Parents were there as well. He saw Charlotte talking to two people and her brothers. The man and woman she spoke too must be her parents. The Comte de Chagny was a tall man with chestnut brown hair and brown eyes. The Countess also had brown hair and brown eyes, but one of them must have had blondes and blue eyed family members, otherwise, Charlotte and one of her brothers wouldn't be so.

Her brothers and father were dressed like every other man in the room, Aaron included. As for her mother, she wore a dark blue gown and her hair was pinned up quite elegantly.

But what took Aaron's breath away was Charlotte. She wore a white gown that was rimmed with green ribbon. It flowed around her, covering her dainty feet which was adorned with buckled white shoes. Her arms were covered by small balloon sleeves. Her golden hair was tied by a green ribbon. An emerald pendant decorated her slender neck.

She looked over and Aaron and smiled at him, beckoning him over.

He looked over at her parents and brothers and hesitantly went over.

"Papa, Maman," she said, turning to Aaron as he approached. "This is the boy I've been telling you about, Aaron."

"An honor, Sir," Aaron said as politely as he could, shaking the Comte's hand. "Madam," he bowed to the Countess. He shook hands with her brothers, but the second brother's grip seemed as if he was trying to break Aaron's hand.

"So, you're a violinist," the Countess stated.

"Indeed, Madam."

"Charlotte has said much about you since we've arrived," the Comte said warmly, but his smile was like ice. "Including that you're an excellent musician. Maybe, perhaps, you could share us a little bit of your talent."

"Gladly, Sir."

"Why not now?" he asked. Charlotte shot her father an icy glare, but Aaron obliged.

He headed to the stage with the Comte, who spoke with the musicians and a violinist stepped forward and handed Aaron his violin, but Aaron said he'd play the piano instead. One of the violinists, most likely a friend and a couple others began to wait for Aaron's queue at the piano. With a nod of his head, they began to play one of Aaron's own compositions:

It was mysteriously dark and disconcerting, but an amazing tune. Aaron let his fingers fly across the keys and everyone became so absorbed in the music that Aaron didn't notice the ashen colors of the Comte and Countess de Chagny.

When he ended, he turned to the Comte who looked as if he was going to faint any moment.

"Your own work, lad?"

"Yes, Sir," Aaron answered.

"And what, if I may ask is this composition titled?"

Aaron blinked. Why did that matter? "Blood," he said. "My father and I composed it together."

"Your Father?" the Countess inquired.

Aaron wondered if he ought to give a name to the Countess. It felt as though he was being tested and that if these people knew his father's name, he might be forbidden to see Charlotte. Dare he risk it?

Now Aaron felt like he was being closed in on. If he didn't give a name, he might appear rude. If he did, he might never see Charlotte again.

"Oh! I do enjoy this song," Charlotte said, running up to Aaron and pulling him away from her questioning parents. "Do say you'd dance with me, Aaron!"

"Of course," Aaron said, grateful that Charlotte saw his distress. He could feel the heated glares from her brothers and father (who else could it be from?) burning holes in his back as he waltzed with her.

"There's a story my parents used to tell me," Charlotte whispered, sensing his discomfort. "A story that sent them on quite an adventure before either of us were born. It was called Little Lotte and the Angel of Music."

"My father told me the story as well," Aaron explained. "He pretended to be an angel to a girl he was terribly affectionate for. She left him for someone more attractive. My mother saved him from himself."

"So the angel didn't exist?"

"In the story it did," Aaron explained.

"How was the story told to you?" Charlotte inquired.

Aaron thought for a moment. "Little Lotte let her mind wander. Little Lotte thought 'am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins, or shoes, or of riddles, or frocks, or of chocolates.'"Aaron stopped when Charlotte began.

"'No, what I love best,' Little Lotte said, 'is when I'm asleep in my bed and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head.'"

"Maybe it's the same beginning," Aaron stated, shrugging.

"Maybe, after that bit, Lotte finds out that the Angel wasn't really an Angel but a man who was in love with her, but he had such a sweet voice that it could soften even the hardest of hearts. However, the man himself was hideous."

"And that man was so much in love with her that he became jealous of her best friend."

"In the version I learned, the man took Lotte to his home where she discovered his hideousness and she was frightened away by him so her friend promised to save her from him."

"But the man didn't like that at all and fought with all his heart and soul to get her to see how much he loved her, but Lotte was too shallow to understand."

"That's not what I heard," Charlotte argued, but a sweet smile was on her face. "The man tried to kill Lotte's friend, and because of that, Lotte began to hate the man she once called her Angel of Music."

"The man tried to kill Lotte's friend because he wouldn't let her go. He was obsessed with Lotte."

"That's where we agree," Aaron chuckled. "Lotte left with her friend, leaving her Angel to wallow in sorrow and pity. What happens after that in your version?"

"Little Lotte marries her friend, the end."

"In my version, the Angel found another who did love him and looked past his hideous countenance. He learned to love her and they married."

It seems like we know different sides of the story, Monsieur," Charlotte stated with a giggle. The song ended and she was swept away by her father to dance the next number. The Countess had already danced with her sons, and now inquired Aaron.

"My daughter seems fond of you, Monsieur Aaron," the Countess stated. "How did you come to be her acquaintance?"

"I usually play outside the school gates for money. My father plays in the orchestra and so we have a pretty descent income. It was quite cold outside and I was getting pneumonia. Your daughter convinced me to come inside and warm up. We've been…friends since."

The Countess had a small smile on her lips and she asked him again who his father was. He didn't get the same feeling around her that he did with her father and brothers, so he found no harm in telling the Countess.

"Erik Destler."

The Countess sighed. "I knew your father a long time ago," she said. "There's no mistaking it. You have his eyes. I was certain that if he were to have children, they would inherit his deformity."

"Deformities are not hereditary, Madam," Aaron stated. "They come from a lack of care on the part of the parents if the child is born with a deformity. Whether the child's child is deformed is based on the care for the child in the womb and out."

The Countess nodded. "I see. You're as brilliant as your father as well."

"Thank you, Madam."

"Is he here? Your father?"

"He and my grandmother might be coming later, but I wouldn't count on it."

Just as the words left his mouth, the music ended and he spotted his father and grandmother come through the door.

"Speak of the devil," Aaron muttered. "He just arrived."

The countess spotted him and thanked Aaron before going and greeting Erik. Aaron wondered why his father's expression turned a bit red.

"Who's that Maman's talking to?" Charlotte asked Aaron, finally released from her father.

"My dad," Aaron stated. "Shall we get a closer look?"

Charlotte nodded and they snuck to a table near by.

"—delightful. I was amazed at the civility your son bore."

"I'm glad to hear that you're impressed, Christine," Erik said. "I've yet to meet your daughter, but Aaron's said much about her."

"However," Gran began. "He tried to keep me from finding out."

"Why do you think?" Erik asked; a knowing smirk on his face.

"The bond between the two of them is quite rapport," Gran stated. "Erik and Aaron cause so much trouble that you have to wonder about their sanity. They're a couple of Lefties."

Charlotte gave Aaron a questioning look. He was snickering. "My dad and I are left handed, and most left handed people tend to be strange. Actually, my dad's ambidextrous, but he was born left handed."

"I see."

"But did you really feel it was necessary to move to New York?" the Countess asked.

"Paris held too many memories," Erik explained.

"Yet New York has made his dear son a news boy."

"The term is actually Newsie, and that is what he is not. Most Newsies are orphans. He _was _one for a little while to help collect money to pay for Meg's hospital bills."

"He seems quite happy," the Countess said.

"He wasn't always that happy. We can thank your daughter for that," Erik said. "In fact, why not I do that right now," he looked over at the table they were sitting at. "Mademoiselle de Chagny, Aaron," he beckoned over to them.

"Was it that obvious?" Aaron asked.

"Aaron, if you're going to be inconspicuous, the best you can do is order a coffee," Erik lectured lightly. He spoke to Charlotte quietly in French.

"Of course, Monsieur."

Aaron looked from his father to Charlotte. "What?" he asked, completely stumped.

"He asked me to teach you French since neither he nor you apparently have the time."

Aaron glared at his father. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the Comte and his sons approaching them. Armand looked particularly deadly.

Erik looked at Aaron and smirked. "Go on, I'll hold them off."

The Countess paled. "Erik, what are you planning to do?"

Before she had finished speaking, Erik had poured himself a glass of wine and began to stumble over to the Comte as if he were drunk. He began to slur in French loudly.

"Mon Deu! Is he mad?" the Countess nearly shrieked, her eyes wide with shock.

"No," Gran said, shaking her head. "He's become an idiot."

Aaron took Charlotte's hand and they disappeared into the crowd.


	6. one love, one lifetime

_**Chapter 5: One Love, One Lifetime**_

_Academy of the Sacred Heart, Amherst, New York, December 24__th__ 10:45 pm_

When they were amidst the sea of people and could no longer see their relatives, Aaron felt like he could breathe again.

"Aaron!" Jane's annoyingly high pitched voice called out. Apparently, Armand was able to see them slip away and followed them, a scowl on his face.

"This just doesn't seem to be our night," Aaron muttered. Charlotte shook her head, but a smile was on her face.

"It's not midnight yet. If I was to introduce Jane to Armand, then we can get away."

Aaron laughed mischievously. "I'm rubbing off on you aren't I?"

"Yes, you are," Charlotte said, just as Jane broke through the crowd. Armand was about to shout at Charlotte when she began.

"Armand, this is one of my dorm mates. I'm sure you'll find much in common."

"That you will, Sir. Jane, why not be a dear and let Monsieur de Chagny have a dance with you."

Both were too astounded to refuse. Once pushed back into the crowd, Aaron and Charlotte ran out of the ballroom and to the roof. According to the clock tower, there was still forty-five minutes until midnight.

Snow fell softly on the roof top, only to be trampled by their feet.

"Are you cold?" Aaron asked. Charlotte nodded, her teeth chattering and her hands rubbed her arms trying to circulate the warmth. Aaron took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, then encircled his own arms around her. "I'll keep you warm." He promised. "My Little Lotte."

They began to sway to music only they could hear. He turned her around to face him and they danced a dance that belonged to them alone. They began to feel warm despite the cold on their skin. Strands of Charlotte's hair began to come loose, but that didn't matter. Their cheeks were flushed from blood and the cold.

Neither knew how long they had danced but when they stopped for a moment, Aaron lowered to Charlotte's height, planting a sweet, soft kiss on her lips, which she answered. The clock began to strike midnight and they broke apart.

"Don't leave," Charlotte begged, as they headed downstairs.

"I'll be back," he assured her.

"No," Charlotte demanded. "Don't leave ever!"

They had reentered the school and the warmth seemed uncomfortable. Aaron gazed at Charlotte's pleading eyes. "Even if we're parted," he stated. "I will always love you. Nothing can change that, no one can change that. I'll always come back to you."

"Promise?" Charlotte asked.

"Of course," Aaron said, kissing her forehead. He led her back downstairs. There, they saw Jane still dancing with Armand, Erik dancing with Ms. Newfield, and the Comte dancing with the Countess. The dancing finished after they arrived and everyone began to bid their farewells. Charlotte after she had said goodbye to her mother and brothers was pulled aside by her father.

"Are you trying to get yourself kidnapped, Lotte?"

"What on earth are you talking about, Papa?"

"Your friend is the Phantom's son! How can you expect me to approve?"

"Did Grandmother and Grandfather approve of Maman?"

The Comte hesitated. "That was…different."

"How so? Because you and Maman were childhood friends? I love Aaron. He's not a bad person and, from what I've seen, neither is his father."

"His father," the Comte growled. "Is a murderer."

"_Was_ a murderer. Twenty years ago," Charlotte countered. "And I'm not in love with someone you still hate; I'm in love with his son. If you can't accept that, then I'm sorry, Papa. You'll have to live with it."

"When did you get such a tongue?" the Comte demanded, grabbing Charlotte's arm in a tight grip.

"Raoul!" the Countess shouted, striding towards her husband and prying him off a now frightened Charlotte. "That is enough! The boy's not that bad. He's quite a gentleman."

"Considering his background!"

"Raoul, you're being a hypocrite."

"Have you forgotten what hell we went through with that man?"

"No, Raoul, I haven't," the Countess said, laying a hand on her husband's shoulder. "But he's certainly changed."

"Considering he's a drunken bastard one minute and sober the next."

"He was obviously acting. Oh come now, Raoul. Is his boy all that bad?"

"Christine, have you gone mad? How can you even suggest that the boy is decent?"

Charlotte stomped away from her parents and once there was room enough to run, did so. She locked her door, pulled off her shoes and collapsed onto her bed, tears wetting her lashes. At the rate it was going towards, her father had a half a mind to pull her out of school and have her schooled in Paris under his supervision instead.

School wouldn't start again for another four days. Charlotte vowed to spend as much time with Aaron as she could just to prove to her father that his idea that she would be kidnapped was utterly ludicrous.

_December 26__th__, Academy of the Sacred Heart, Amherst, New York, 7: 37 am_

Charlotte came out later than usual, which Aaron half expected considering how late she was up.

"Is there somewhere else we can go?"

"I have some money," Aaron thought. "Probably enough to get us to New York City and back. Why?"

"I need to get out of this dratted school!" Charlotte stated. Aaron shrugged and Charlotte opened the gate carefully before squeezing through. As she did that, Aaron put away his violin.

"We'll take a stop at my place for a moment. I need to put this away," he said, indicating his violin.

"Why?"

"It'd be a bit of a bother lugging around a violin if you're not going to use it."

"Then why not use it when we get there?"

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "What are you getting at?"

"You know songs that can be sung right?"

"Of course, but I never really play them. Not much anyway. You plan on singing?"

"I don't see why not," Charlotte said.

"It could be wet," he said.

"I brought an umbrella."

Aaron shook his head. He wasn't going to be able to convince her otherwise and he could tell, but they still stopped at his home so he could get a bit more out of his safe.


	7. Angel of Music, Grant to Me Your Glory

_**Chapter 6: Angel of Music, Grant to Me Your Glory**_

_Central Park, 10:13 AM, New York City, New York_

They took a stop at a great rock and Aaron retuned his violin. He glanced at Charlotte who nodded, and he began with the opening notes. After six measures, Charlotte began to sing. Her voice was like crystal vibrating from a crisp echo.

_Winter has come for me, can't carry on.  
The chains to my life are strong but soon they'll be gone.  
I'll spread my wings one more time._

_Is it a dream?  
All the ones I have loved calling out my name.  
The sun warms my face.  
All the days of my life, I see them passing me by._

_In my heart I know I can let go.  
In the end I will find some peace inside.  
New wings are growing tonight._

_Is it a dream?  
All the ones I have loved calling out my name.  
The sun warms my face.  
All the days of my life, I see them passing me by._

_As I am soaring I'm one with the wind.  
I am longing to see you again, it's been so long.  
We will be together again._

There was an interlude for Aaron to play his violin. Charlotte entered the song again after another eight measures:

_Is it a dream?  
All the ones I have loved calling out my name.  
The sun warms my face.  
All the days of my life, I see them passing me by._

A small crowd had formed as she sang and applauded them. Aaron began another tune that he was taught by his father, but this one seemed to place Charlotte under a hypnotic trance. Her eyes glazed over and the crowd began to murmur.

_"Little Lotte…_

_Let her mind wander…_

_Little Lotte thought,_

"_Am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins or shoes or of riddles, of frocks, or of chocolates…_

_No, what I love best…_

_Is when I'm asleep in my bed and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head…_

_The Angel of Music sings songs in my head…"_

Aaron stopped playing and Charlotte fell backwards a little bit. One of the men caught her and Aaron took her in his arms.

"Charlotte?"

"I feel strange," she stated, covering her eyes.

"I'm taking you back to the school," Aaron decided, laying her down on the rock and packing his things before picking her up in his arms and running back to the train station.

"No," she grunted, trying to sit up. "It's just a fainting spell. I'm alright."

"It was not just a fainting spell," Aaron hissed, clipping the box shut and helping her back on her feet. "That song was something my father taught me. He did tell me that it can 'affect' certain people into doing his bidding, but he never said that it could hypnotize people."

"Hypnotized?"

"My dad wasn't just a musical genius," Aaron explained, hoisting Charlotte into his arms. She laid her head against his shoulder. "I'll explain more later, when I know what's going on myself."

As they walked away, Charlotte snuggled closer to Aaron, feeling perfectly at ease in his arms. Eventually, she was set down and he led her back to the school arm-in-arm.

"When are your parents leaving?" he asked. When Charlotte shot him a look, Aaron held up his hands in defense. "Just wondering."

"I don't know. Maman likes you, and she seems to know your father pretty well. But Papa said he might buy a house here. I can't help but think that he is up to something. Maman thinks so too, so she said she'd keep an eye on him. When I received their letter, they said they'd be staying until January first. Maman says she isn't so sure about that now that Papa wants to buy a house."

Aaron drooped a little at this, but said nothing. Flagging down a taxi, they headed back to Amherst. "You sing well," he complimented, trying to break the silence.

Charlotte blushed slightly. "Thank you."

"Who taught you?"

"Father hired a music teacher in France to teach me, but he didn't want me to sing or dance. I think it was because it brought back memories for him or something. I was taught to dance by your Grandmother, Madame Giry."

"Really? Gran taught you to dance? Cool. You know, if you want some extra singing lessons, I can talk to my dad."

"Papa wouldn't like that so much, considering that he doesn't like your father."

Aaron smirked at her. "Then ask your mom," he said. "She might let you."

Charlotte nodded. "She might." But she said no more after that. As they neared the school, she began to speak again. "Aaron."

"Yes?"

"Did you mean what you said? You'll never stop loving me?"

Aaron wrapped her in his arms. "I meant every word, Little Lotte."

Charlotte beamed and rested against his chest. _Mon Ange de Musique, _she thought, _Je avior vos gloire, mon amour._ The carriage stopped at the school and they got off. After Aaron paid the carriage, he walked Charlotte to the gate.

"Can I count on you being here tomorrow?" She asked. Aaron laughed.

"Since when am I never here?"

Charlotte smiled at this and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before heading inside.

Aaron waited for her to close the front door before heading home. He was unaware that he was being watched.

* * *

Song: "Swang Song" by Within Temptation. Yes, I know it isn't something that would have been sung in late 1800s, early 1900s. Especially since it wasn't written until the 2000's, but ya know what, I don't care!


	8. Angel Wings Turn To Dust

_**Chapter Seven: Angel Wings Turned to Dust**_

_December 27__th__, Amherst, New York. Brunner's Tavern 11:00 PM._

The man sat with his legs propped up onto the table, waiting for the so called Vicomte to come and speak to him. He was a rough edged man, powerful in build. He was not even twenty-five, and yet everyone in Amherst new him. John Holmer was a man not to be trifled with unless one was willing to pay him for his services or was very desperate.

The door opened and a finely dressed man came in. He was a handsome man in stature, but couldn't be anything more than a fop if ever there was one. He had a scowl on his face and was clearly angry.

"Vicomte de Chagny?" the man asked.

"Monsieur Holmer?" the Vicomte answered harshly.

"The same," the man took his feet off the table and the Vicomte took a seat. "Your valet told me that this would be worth my time, so it better not be a waste."

"My daughter has fallen in love with a murderer's son," the Vicomte began. "I'm willing to pay you any price so long as you get the job done."

"You want me to kill the kid your daughter likes?"

"No," the Vicomte stated. A smile curved on his lips. "I want you to show that the son is in every way the monster that his father is."

John smirked. "So you want me to break them apart. And I thought this was going to be something difficult."

"Do whatever you must, but I don't want my daughter physically harmed."

"I wouldn't dream of it," John said with a smirk, pulling out a cigar and lighting it. "The lad, however, you don't care about."

"Do what you want with the boy; I don't care so long as you're able to tear them apart."

"I think we're at an accord, Vicomte," he held out his hand and the Vicomte grasped it in his.

_December 29, Academy of the Sacred Heart, Amherst, New York. 6:30 AM_

"I talked to Maman about continuing my voice lessons under your father's tutelage," Charlotte began. "She said that I couldn't without her present. And since she and Papa may be leaving soon…"

Aaron took this in silence. "That's too bad," he finally said. "Dad told me he'd love to teach you. Did you ask your mom why?"

"I did, but all she said was that even though she cares for Monsieur Destler, she doesn't trust him enough to teach me. I thought you said he's a good teacher."

"What?! My dad's the best there is! He taught me from infancy everything I know, even cooking!"

Charlotte blinked. "You can cook?"

"No. That was a joke; a very bad joke," Aaron said, smiling sheepishly. "You better go," he stated. Charlotte nodded. They bid goodbye and once she was inside, Aaron put his violin away. "You can come out now," he said.

John Holmer stepped out from the thrush of trees across the street. "You're sharp, kid," he complimented. "How'd you know I was there?"

"I could feel your eyes burning holes in my back," Aaron answered, looking at him. "What do you want?"

John smirked and approached Aaron, who felt nervous, but he didn't lie about knowing everything his dad did. He knew how to defend himself if need be. Aaron casually put a hand in his pocket, fingering a switchblade.

John sprinted at him, aiming a punch at Aaron. Aaron dodged to the right and John slammed his left fist into Aaron's jaw. Aaron fell sprawled on the ground. He pulled out his switchblade, which was clutched in his bleeding hand.

When John punched Aaron, the blade switched open and Aaron accidently grabbed the blade. He pulled it out and his hand was bleeding deeply.

Aaron stood up and corrected his hold on the blade, but it was soaked in his blood and his hand was getting numb. It was hard to hold the blade when his hand shook from blood loss. Once on his feet, John attacked again, this time, aiming a punch to the gut, Aaron jumped back and brandished his knife at John.

"Come on, Lad," John shouted. "This all you got?"

Aaron couldn't control his hand; it shook too much for him to keep it under control. He knew he was lousy with his right hand, though his father was ambidextrous. But his left hand was cut too deeply to function properly. And the knife threatened to fall out of his hand.

It served little use to him.

Dropping the knife on the ground, he tackled John to the ground and began to hit him back furiously. But the bigger man blocked Aaron's fist and pinned Aaron to the ground. "You'd best watch your back, Lad," he threatened. "You might just find yourself loosing something precious."

Aaron wanted to retaliate, tell the man that he was the son of the Phantom of the Opera, but his father didn't need the attention brought upon him. He didn't know what he had done to this man who was so desperate to make him an enemy.

John released Aaron and left. Aaron picked up the knife and snuck up behind John. He was not going to let this man get away from him so easily. He ran over to John and embedded the knife into his shoulder.

John shrieked and reached behind him to pull the knife out, startling Aaron. When the blade was dislodged from John's shoulder, the larger man's eyes seemed to be lit with fury.

"You stupid kid!" he shouted. Aaron only then realized that what he did was very, very stupid indeed. He backed into a corner, his mind gone totally blank.

Then he lunged. Aaron forced his frozen and shaking hands to wrap themselves around John's neck, steadily tightening. Eventually, John began to turn purple.

"Aaron! Stop!" someone shouted. A pair of strong hands pulled him off as the voice shouted at him. The man that intervened hit Aaron across the face, hard.

Everything went blank.

_3:00 PM, Amherst, New York._

Aaron opened his eyes, he was in a room that for a moment he did not recognize. Then his memory flooded back. _Oh, it's my room._ He tried to sit up, but his left hand had a sharp, stabbing pain. He eased himself up further, sucking in a breath as his hand ached more. Then he looked at it. It was wrapped up in bandages and now a tinge of red was soaking through the bandage.

_What the hell?_

The door opened and Erik stepped in. Aaron had never seen his father look so angry.

"Dad?" Aaron asked, unsure. Hi s face felt sore too and he winced at the pain of moving his muscles.

"You tried to kill a man, Aaron," he said deeply. "Of all things I thought I taught you, I thought that the one that would sink in the most would be to never take a man's life."

Usually, when Erik Destler was angry, his voice would rise to a shout. Aaron could handle his father shouting at him. But hearing Erik so calm, but his face betraying the rage, frightened Aaron.

"You are not to return to Sacred Heart."

"What?" Aaron asked. _But…Charlotte!_ "Dad, you can't do that!"

"No?" Erik asked. "The whole school saw you, Aaron, including Charlotte."

The fight returned to his memory. Aaron shivered. _She saw that?_

"The Vicomtess de Chagny and I had quite a chat after that. Charlotte is going to return to France with her parents. I didn't see any reason to disagree with them after this morning's fiasco."

"But if I'm not being allowed to go back to keep me from seeing her, then why can't I return."

"I was not the only one embarrassed, Aaron," Erik snarled. "Ms. Newfield worried that because of your display, no one would enroll their daughters to her school. And loosing the de Chagny's patronage is quite a blow as well to her dignity. And your grandmother…well…you'd better pray that the next time we see her, she'll be in a forgiving mood."

He didn't have to be told that Gran was mad too. Mom would be mad if she was alive. _She's probably turning in her grave just thinking about it, _Aaron thought.

"You're also going to trial starting tomorrow."

Aaron dared to look up then. "What?"

"The man you attempted to kill filed a lawsuit."

"It wasn't my fault!" Aaron shouted. "He attacked me first!"

Erik shook his head. "You better make sure your story is strait when you go to court tomorrow, Boy. That's all I can say to you." He left the room and Aaron was left to his thoughts.

When his thoughts turned to Charlotte, tears slid down his face. _I'm sorry, I couldn't keep my promise._


	9. The Truth Comes Out

_**Chapter Eight: The Truth Comes Out**_

_4:00 PM, December 28th, 1890, Christian Brother's Academy, New York._

Charlotte was going back to France. They received the news of Aaron Destler's brutal attempted murder. But…something didn't seem right about it.

While Armand believed that it was for the best that Charlotte be separated from Destler, Phillip wasn't so certain. He didn't like Aaron any more than Armand did, but he did notice that Charlotte was happy when she was with him and that, he believed, was what mattered.

But the fight was strange. Aaron supposedly attacked a man he didn't know and tried to kill him. But the wounds that he had on his face and hand were strange evidence that something had happened before. He even followed the trial between Aaron and John Holmer, the man that Aaron supposedly attacked.

Aaron claimed that he was attacked first. That the man just popped out and had began throwing fists at him. Holmer denounced this, saying that he had no reason to attack Aaron. But the wounds…the wounds…

Something was terribly amiss.

"Something wrong, Phil?" James asked.

"Just thinking," he answered bluntly. He knew what he had to do. Standing, Phillip grabbed his coat and left.

He walked to the court house and asked to meet with the judge.

"Monsieur de Chagny," the judge greeted. "What may I do for you?"

"It's regarding Aaron Destler's charge."

"The boy has a strange plea, but it seems that he doesn't know why he attacked Mr. Holmer. He said he felt as if something had taken over him. He doesn't remember if there was any reason for him to attack him or not. It doesn't look good for him."

"But it seems strange: Destler had wounds on his face and hand when he snapped. Those didn't just appear."

"No, they didn't. But Mr. Holmer is determined to have Young Mr. Destler in prison; all I can do is carry out the sentencing—everything else is in the hands of the jury."

"What if I testified for him?"

"You know Destler?"

"He was my sister's…lover," it was difficult to say the words. "My father didn't approve of their courtship and the whole nature of this case is odd. If…if I can do something to help him, or at least try, then maybe…I don't know what…but…I have to try."

"Very well," the judge said. "The next hearing is in an hour. I will speak with Mr. Destler's lawyer on the matter and you will give your testimony."

_5:00 PM, January 1__st__, Amherst Courthouse._

Court was called to session. Aaron sat stiffly in the bench, the family lawyer next to him.

The prosecution gave their account. All false! None of it was true to Aaron's nature, and yet the jury was half-buying it.

"Will the defense step forward," the judge said.

"I call Phillip de Chagny to the stand."

Aaron raised his head and spotted Phillip, Charlotte's older brother, approach the bench. His heart sank. Would Phillip speak against him? After swearing on the Bible, Phillip took a seat.

"What do you know about the claim against Mr. Destler?"

"I know that it must be false." Aaron was shocked and murmurs rose from the crowds. "He was wounded when he attacked Mr. Holmer. That didn't happen unprovoked. It couldn't have happened unprovoked. Wounds just don't appear wherever they want. They have to be inflicted. I believe that someone hired Mr. Holmer to attack Mr. Destler."

"And who do you suppose hired him?"

"I believe…" he paused. This was not going to look well for him if he said this, but it was the only suspect he had. "I believe it was my father," more shocked murmurs.

"Why would your father want to harm this boy?"

"He didn't approve of Mr. Destler's relationship with my sister based on who his father was. He wanted to prove that the son was the exact image of the father in every way to give himself a reason to separate my sister from Mr. Destler. I don't like it either, but I love my sister and want her to be happy. She was very happy when she was with Aaron Destler. I can't imagine why my father would risk my sister's happiness other than in blind hatred of Mr. Destler's father."

"Why is there such animosity between the fathers?"

"My father and Mr. Destler's father were both in love with my mother. They were fierce rivals and Mr. Destler's father became so obsessed, that he felt it necessary to get rid of the competition. That is, kill my father and steal my mother away. But as you can tell, he didn't succeed. I don't think my father ever forgave Mr. Destler's father for all the things that he went through to win my mother."

"That is all, your honor," the defense stated. The prosecutor rose from the bench and began his own questioning.

"But where does Mr. Holmer play in this conspiracy?"

"I already told you, my father hired him."

"And he has no reason to attack Mr. Destler except under what conditions?"

"Money, perhaps," Phillip stated. "My father may not seem it, but he's an ambitious man."

"And why would Mr. Destler attack him after he decided to walk away?"

"I don't know that. Maybe, he was threatened."

_Threatened. "You might want to watch your back, Lad. You might loose something precious."_

"Well then why wouldn't Mr. Destler mention that he was threatened?"

"How about you ask him that yourself?" Phillip stated coldly.

The prosecutor smirked. "I call Aaron Destler to the stand."

Aaron stood and swapped places with Phillip, who went back into the crowd.

"Were you threatened?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't mention this because?"

"I forgot that I was. I know it's stupid to forget something as important as that, but he did threaten me."

"And what did Mr. Holmer say?"

"He said, 'you might want to watch your back, you might loose something precious.'" Aaron paused and licked his lips. "The only thing I find precious to me more than life is Charlotte de Chagny. I don't remember what was going through my mind at that time, but I snapped after that and attacked him. I guess I was subconsciously thinking that he was going to hurt her."

"Does it matter now?" John asked. "She's already on her way back to Paris."

The court room went into an outcry.

"Shut up!" John shouted above the judge's call for order. The room went quiet. "I admit it: I was hired by the gal's father to take the lad out of the picture. I don't even know the kid. I was just doing as I was told, your honor," he said. "I punched the kid a couple times. Yeah, I threatened him, but I wasn't gonna carry it out, I was told not to lay a hand on the gal. I didn't expect the lad to loose his marbles."

Court was adjourned. Aaron glanced over at Phillip questioningly, but all he did was rush up to him and pull Aaron out of the court room. "You know how to ride?"

"No."

"Fine then, come with me," Phillip paid a cabby for his carriage and climbed up. "Come on; do you not want to see her off or not?"

"What?"

"We don't have time, Destler," Phillip shouted. "Charlotte's going back to Paris in two hours. Two hours to get to the dock. Besides, I have to have a word with Father."

Aaron didn't need to be told twice. He climbed into the cab and Phillip ordered the horses into a gallop.

"Why did you help me?"

"Like I said earlier, something was way off about the evidence."

"Well, whatever the reason, I ought to thank you."

"Just don't break her heart. Otherwise I'll be the next one to put a false charge on you. Just wondering, how far would you go to protect Lotte?"

Aaron glared at him with utter seriousness. "I'd die for her."

Phillip smiled. "Good answer, Monsieur."

_New York City Dock, 6:30 PM_

Charlotte had not spoken to anyone since Aaron's arrest. Not even to her parents. Father urged her to speak, but she refused. Mother comforted her as best she could, but it was hard enough holding back tears whenever she thought about Aaron, which was often. She was afraid she'd break down if she spoke.

They stopped at the dock and Charlotte followed her mother out of the carriage, head bowed, looking at her feet.

"Lotte," Father said. "Please, talk to us. You know you can tell us anything."

Charlotte just walked away from him and onto the ship.

She glanced up at the ship and bit her lip. She didn't want to go on it. But she timidly forced herself to go on the ship and say goodbye. When the boat was about to take off, a coach came to a sudden halt, and two men jumped down. She didn't recognize them at first…

"Charlotte!!!"

She jumped and turned to one of the men. "AARON!!!" She shouted. She ran to one of the crewmen. "Let me off," she demanded.

"Sorry miss, we can't stop."

"Let me off, damn it! I need to talk to that boy!"

"I'm very sorry, but we can't do a thing about that."

Charlotte stomped her foot and ran back to the side bow, taking off her shoes and her coat.

"Mon Deu, Raoul, stop her!" Maman shouted. Three men grabbed her, one of them was father and they pulled her back.

"Let me go! Aaron!"

"Charlotte! Charlotte, I love you!"

And it was too late for her to swim back. They were too far out from sea.

* * *

Before you yell at me, let me tell you that the story IS NOT over yet! There is still hope!


	10. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

_Paris, France, the Opera Populaire, 1896-Six Years Later, 7:00 PM_

An American orchestra was playing that night. Charlotte de Chagny, Paris' resident shrew, was attending with her parents and older brothers.

Very few remembered that she was once a wonderful child, if not a bit free willed even then. But when she was ten years old, she was sent to school in New York. The rumor was that she was pulled out after four months. But the reasons why went as far as poor grades to horrid misconduct. None included the possibility of her falling in love with the Phantom of the Opera's son.

Charlotte strode into the door with her family on her Philip's arm. She was a fair jewel in her family, but her temperament was hideous. She was constantly named a beast by the others she knew, and she allowed them to think so.

They entered Box Five and took seats. Charlotte was guarded by both brothers on each side of her. Philip smiled at her kindly and she smiled meekly back. Philip understood why she was the way she was now and he was openly hostile towards their father on occasion, but always in the privacy of their home.

The music began. Haunting and beautiful, it mesmerized Charlotte more than anyone else in the room. It wasn't an opera, but a symphony with a singer. The tune was dark. The singer began her disturbing song. But Charlotte felt as though she could relate whereas everyone looked pale and drawn, but it seemed as though the singer was off-key a bit, so she couldn't help but wince a little.

The next song began and she was struck with recognition. She knew the song. She sung it before. She bit her lip, wondering if this was _his_ music.

The next song did not include vocals and she knew for certain that it was his music. She stood and went to search for him. "Charlotte," Philip hissed. She turned to him, glaring. "You can see him later."

"After six years and now I know he's in the same building? How can you ask me to wait?" she whispered.

"If you could wait six years, then you can wait another hour or two. Sit down."

Grudgingly, she did so, fidgeting throughout the concert. Finally, it ended and she dashed out of the box.

"Mademoiselle de Chagny," a manager addressed. "The composer is speaking with the diva currently. It turns out that she didn't sing a couple of his songs correctly and he's not pleased with her, so if you'd just wait a moment—"

Charlotte was about to shout at the man when someone stepped out of the dressing room. "Dratted woman," he growled. "Are you people tone-deaf?" he asked the manager. "That woman can't sing for her life! Listening to her speak even makes my ears bleed!"

"Monsieur, I apologize, but—"

"I don't want to hear your excuses," he said, rubbing his temples. Charlotte couldn't stop staring at him. He glanced at her and blinked.

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but you seem familiar—"

"Aaron?"

Time stopped for a moment. Aaron studied Charlotte's face for a moment and she wondered if he still knew who she was.

A smile split on his face and he kissed her gently. She answered, but it ended briefly. "Six years waiting to taste your lips again and now it's not enough."

Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

"Charlotte!" Papa shouted. "Where in the blazes did that girl run off to?"

Aaron smiled. "Dad's here too, we've been staying in his old home underground," he whispered. "Would you like to see?"

Charlotte nodded and followed him into an unused dressing room. He pressed something on the side of the mirror and led her through it. The passage was dank and dark, littered with rats, but that didn't bother Charlotte. They soon came to a lake and Aaron helped her in. He rowed them to a small island decorated with several beautiful works of art and figurines.

She looked around, but did not see Monsieur Destler anywhere. "Where's your father?"

"Out, he doesn't like staying here. Too many memories for him, ya know."

"Oh," she sat on the bench.

"I never forgot about you, if you're wondering."

"I know. I couldn't forget even if I wanted to," Charlotte answered. "Do the managers know that you're the…"

"No. No one knows. Many people forgot about the Phantom long ago. Some still remember, but not many."

"I see, so your father's safe."

"He doesn't like being here, but he decided he needed to come back if only for a little while."

Charlotte nodded. "Just like Amherst holds memories for us."

"Yeah," Aaron answered sitting next to her. "Sing for me."

"What?"

Aaron let his fingers fly across the keyboard. Having been unused for twenty years until Aaron and his father's return, the organ was tuned perfectly. "Sing," Aaron pressed.

"I don't know the song," she said.

"Then I'll sing with you, Little Lotte."

_THE END_

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_If you want to rant now, please do so. :) For those who reviewed from the very beginning, thank you for your patience.


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